What Goes Around Comes Around
by AnastaziaDanielle
Summary: A stomach virus hits the Winchester household. Weechesters
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Chapter 1

Dean shifted in his bed and tried to figure out what had caused him to wake up; he was instantly alert at the sound of rustling from his little brother's bed. "Sammy?" he called out to the four-year-old in the twin bed that fit snuggly against the opposite wall of the small bedroom they shared. Dean sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He could barely see his brother in the barest hint of moonlight that filtered in through the tightly shut blinds.

"Dean," Sam sniffled in a whimpering voice, "I don't feel good."

Dean longed to flop back on his pillows, but his dad was out on a hunt and he was in charge of his little brother. "What's wrong, kiddo?" he yawned as he scooted to the edge of the bed instead.

"My tummy hurts," Sam whined as he rubbed his belly gently.

Dean shuffled to his brother's bed and brushed Sam's too-long bangs back from his forehead. The little boy's skin felt clammy and Dean frowned. "Do you feel like you're gonna throw up?" he asked his younger brother.

Before Sam could form an answer, he vomited all over himself, the bedclothes, and Dean before he nearly choked on the harsh sob that erupted from his throat.

"Oh, gross!" Dean sputtered as he jumped backwards in surprise.

Sammy cried harder and then gagged once again. "I'm sorry, Dean," he moaned.

His older brother sighed. "It's okay, Sammy. Let's get you cleaned up." Dean held out his hand and the four-year-old took it. Dean helped Sam clamber off of the bed and led him to their apartment's tiny bathroom. Dean started running a bath and then turned to Sam. "Let's get you out of these dirty pajamas." The older boy frowned at the heat radiating off of his brother's body. He always hated it when Sammy got sick, but it was even worse when their dad wasn't home. What if Sam was _really_ sick and needed a doctor? Dean tamped down his worry and focused on the skinny little body in front of him.

Both boys grimaced when Sam's soiled top was removed. Dean tossed the dirty clothes into the corner and handed Sam his toothbrush and toothpaste. "Brush your teeth and then get in the tub. I'll go change the sheets."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam murmured in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry I got sick when Daddy isn't here." He peered up sadly at his brother through sweaty strands of his shaggy bangs.

Dean sighed and ruffled the younger boy's already messy hair. "It's okay, Sammy. You can't help it."

"When's Daddy comin' back, Dean?" the little boy asked as he shoved his toothbrush into his mouth and began to brush away the foul taste of vomit.

"In a few days, Sammy, but don't worry. I'll take care of you," Dean assured him. He would; he would do whatever it took to make sure Sam was feeling better as soon as possible.

"I know," Sam answered back with confidence after spitting into the sink. He had toothpaste dribbling down his chin. "You always take care of me, Dean."

Dean's heart warmed and he gave his little brother a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back, Sammy. Get in the tub." He snatched up the dirty pajamas and then went into the bedroom and tugged the soiled sheets off of the bed. The dirty laundry could be washed out after he took care of Sammy. Dean secured new sheets on Sammy's mattress and then went back to the bathroom to check on his little brother.

Sam had washed, but now the chills were setting in. His teeth chattered and he hugged his arms around his body. "I'm cold, Dean," he chattered, his face pale although high spots of color on his cheeks indicated his fever.

"Okay, get out and get dried off. Then I'll tuck you in." Dean held out a faded blue towel and waited until his brother plucked it from his fingers.

Sammy was shivering so hard he could barely dry himself off once he stepped over the edge of the tub and onto the well-worn linoleum of the bathroom floor. Dean finally took the towel from him and finished the job. Then he helped him slip into a clean pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Sammy leaned his forehead against Dean's chest and heaved a shuddering sigh.

"Get back in bed, buddy. I'll put the bathroom trash can in there in case you feel sick again," Dean assured his brother unable to resist giving the four-year-old a quick hug.

Sam nodded and shuffled miserably back into the small bedroom across the hall. He climbed into bed and quickly tugged the blankets up to his chin. He was so cold, and he couldn't get his teeth to stop chattering.

Dean rinsed out the dirty laundry and the tub before he put the trashcan beside his brother's bed.

"Dean?" Sam called out hesitantly.

"What, Sammy?" his older brother yawned sleepily.

"Will you stay with me?" Sam asked in a small voice. "I don't like throwing up, Dean."

Dean bit back a sigh. All he really wanted to do was curl up in his own bed and go to sleep, but his kid brother really did hate throwing up. "Okay, Sammy, but you have to go to sleep."

"I will, Dean; I promise," the little boy answered around a yawn.

Dean slid beneath his brother's blankets and felt Sam's overly warm body curl up into his side. "Go to sleep, Sammy," he soothed as he ran his fingers through his brother's damp, messy hair. "You'll feel better in the morning."

It seemed as if he had just closed his eyes when Dean felt his little brother surge upward and lean over the side of the bed to vomit into the trashcan. Dean placed a reassuring hand between Sammy's bony shoulder blades. "It's okay, Sammy. You're all right."

Sam puked once again before he dissolved into shuddering sobs.

Dean snatched a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wiped his little brother's mouth.

"Dean," the little boy moaned, "I don't wanna be sick."

"I know, kiddo," Dean soothed. "It's no fun being sick. I'll be right back, Sammy. I'll get you some water so you can rinse your mouth." He tossed the tissue into the trashcan and hurried to the bathroom for a cup of water. When he returned to the bedroom, he supervised Sam as the small boy rinsed and spit.

"There you go, Sammy. Now lay down while I rinse out the trashcan. I'll be right back." Dean tucked Sam beneath the covers and brushed his sweaty bangs away from his face.

Sam moaned. "I don't feel good, Dean." He hiccupped around a sob.

"I know, and I'll get you some ginger ale at the store in the morning." Dean climbed back into the bed and gathered his little brother into his arms. "You'll be okay, Sammy. It's just a little virus."

"It doesn't feel little, Dean," Sammy protested as he settled against his big brother's shoulder.

Dean chuckled. "Go to sleep, dude."

"'Kay, Dean," the little boy sighed as he flung an arm over his brother's stomach and squeezed him snuggly.

Dean managed to stay awake until Sammy's breathing evened out in slumber. He woke at the crack of dawn the next morning when Sammy poked him in the ribs.

"Dean?" the little boy asked hesitantly.

"I'm awake," the older boy grumbled. His head was pounding and his eyes felt bleary from lack of sleep. "How do you feel?"

"I'm still cold, Dean," the little boy chattered, "and my tummy feels yucky."

Dean placed his hand on his brother's forehead and winced at the heat he felt there. "You still have a fever," he groaned. "I'm gonna get dressed and go get you some ginger ale."

Sammy's face grew pinched with worry. "I don't want you to leave me alone."

"You're sick, Sammy. I can't take you to the store with me. Stay in bed and I'll hurry. I promise." Dean ruffled his kid brother's hair before he slid out of bed and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He shrugged into his heavy coat. "I'll be right back, dude. Just stay under the covers."

Sam slid down and buried his face in the pillow. He pulled the blankets over his head and listened to every creaking sound the old apartment building made. His stomach rolled and he whimpered, not wanting to throw up until Dean got back from the store. "Hurry, Dean," he whispered into the stuffy air beneath the blankets.

Dean patted the pocket that held five dollars and headed to the drink aisle of the store. He picked up a two liter bottle of ginger ale and then found a box of saltine crackers. They would be good for Sammy's upset stomach. He paid for his purchases and hurried back across the street toward their rundown apartment building. He didn't want to leave Sam alone for long; anything could happen to the four-year-old.

Dean entered the apartment and went straight to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Sammy was leaning over the side of the bed dry heaving above the trashcan. Dean dropped his purchases to the floor and hurried to his brother's side.

"It's okay, Sammy," he soothed, placing a hand on his little brother's back. "I'm here now." Dean grimaced as he felt his younger brother's muscles tighten with yet another gag.

"Hurts," the youngest Winchester grimaced as his stomach muscles clenched painfully.

"I know," Dean commiserated. "I got you some ginger ale. That's good for upset stomachs."

Sammy sniffled and wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his pajama top. "Will it make me feel better?"

"You betcha," Dean grinned, hoping he spoke the truth. "I'll go pour some in a cup."

Sam settled back against the pillows and tugged the blanket up to his chin. He listened to the sound of Dean opening a cabinet door. He heard the soda bottle whish open and then listened as the liquid poured into the cup. Dean soon appeared in the doorway holding a blue plastic cup in one hand.

"Here, Sammy," he grinned. Dean shuffled carefully to the bed so he didn't spill the soda. He helped Sammy take a few small sips. "I'll give you more in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay, Dean," the little boy sighed with a frown.

The few swallows of soda Sammy had managed to drink came back up just a few minutes later. Worry twisted in Dean's stomach. "We'll try again in a few minutes, Sammy. You just weren't ready yet," he soothed his miserable little brother.

It was mid-afternoon before Sammy was able to keep anything down, but by bedtime he was able to eat two saltine crackers. Dean felt triumphant, if exhausted.

"Will you sleep with me again tonight?" Sam asked his brother hopefully as Dean tucked him into bed.

Dean was so exhausted that he just nodded. His head was pounding so badly that he could barely think and the room was beginning to spin around him just a bit. "Sure, Sammy. Make room for me."

Dean crawled into bed beside his little brother and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, Sammy burrowed into his side.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Chapter 2

Dean woke when Sam leaned to the side to vomit into the trashcan Dean had left beside the bed. "Sammy?" he croaked out groggily.

"I'm sick again, Dean," the little boy moaned.

"I thought you were feeling better," Dean told his brother softly as he rubbed the little boy's back in soothing circles.

"I was," Sam sniffled. "But now my tummy hurts."

Dean sighed. "Okay, I'll get you some water so you can rinse out your mouth. I'll be right back."

"I got it on my jammies, Dean." Sam looked down at his shirt in disgust. "I don't want it on my jammies." He sniffled and wiped at his teary eyes.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean frowned as he realized his own head was still pounding and now his stomach swirled sourly. "Let's get you into the tub."

Sam crawled out of bed and followed Dean into the bathroom. He squirmed his way out of his soiled pajamas as Dean started running water into the bathtub. Then he grabbed his toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste and brushed his teeth to get rid of the yucky taste in his mouth. "I don't like being sick," he announced as he placed his toothbrush back into the holder.

"Yeah, it sucks," Dean commiserated, swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat when he leaned over to check the temperature of the water. He turned off the faucet and gestured to the tub. "Climb in, Sammy. I'll go get you some clean pjs."

Dean shuffled into the bedroom and gazed longingly at his own bed. He tugged pajamas for Sam from the dresser drawer and carried them back into the bathroom. He knew he needed to clean Sam's bed, but the thought of tugging off all of the sheets and replacing them made his head spin. Instead, he tugged off the soiled blankets and sheets and put them in a garbage bag by the door. He'd wash them out tomorrow when he was feeling better. There was no reason he and his brother couldn't sleep in the other bed tonight.

"I'm ready to get out of the water, Dean," Sammy called from the bathroom.

Dean rubbed at his aching forehead and returned to the bathroom to hold out a towel and help his little brother out of the tub. As he leaned over to wrap the towel around Sammy, his stomach rolled and saliva pooled in his mouth. Dean knew he was going to throw up. Letting go of his brother, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited.

"Dean!" Sammy cried out in alarm as he tugged the towel tighter around his still-damp body.

Dean spat into the toilet and winced at the burning in the back of his throat. He reached up with a shaky hand to flush the contents of his stomach down the toilet so he didn't have to look at them anymore. "I'll be okay, Sammy," he rasped out as he rested his clammy forehead against his arm.

"I'll get you some water," his little brother informed him. "You need to get the gross taste out of your mouth." Sam dropped his towel, dressed quickly in his pajamas, and then filled a paper cup with water. "Here ya go, Dean," he announced as he knelt by his brother and handed him the cup.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean answered. He swished the water around in his mouth and spit out the remains of the foul taste the vomit had left behind.

Sam settled cross-legged on the floor beside his brother and regarded him with a worried frown.

Dean had just placed the paper cup on the edge of the bathroom counter when his stomach rolled again and he lurched over the toilet. He felt Sam's hand rubbing circles on his back as he vomited three times in rapid succession. His stomach muscles were already sore, and he knew this was just the beginning.

"I wish Daddy was back," Sam whimpered, his own stomach feeling sick once again at the stench of his brother's vomit.

"It will be okay, Sammy," Dean panted as he slumped weakly back against the wall.

"Do you want some ginger ale, Dean? I can go get you some," Sam offered worriedly.

Dean shook his head and groaned when the world spun around him. "No, Sammy. Maybe in a little while, okay?"

The four-year-old heaved a sigh. "All right, Dean." Sam fidgeted anxiously beside his brother.

"Go back to bed, kiddo. I'm gonna stay right here a bit." Dean leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball. He wished his dad would hurry home.

"Can I stay here with you?" Sam queried, his face scrunched up with worry.

Dean sighed. "The floor is too cold for you, buddy. Go to bed-my bed. Your bed will get clean sheets in the morning. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Sam stood, but hesitated. "I can get you more water first," he announced as he grasped the paper cup and filled it up. "I'll put it on the counter, Dean."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean panted as he leaned over the toilet for yet another round of vomiting.

When his brother started throwing up again, Sam froze. Dean hadn't left him alone when he was vomiting. Sam put his hands on his hips and faced his brother with a stubborn expression on his face once Dean finished heaving into the toilet. "I'm stayin' with you, Dean. You didn't leave me when I was sick. I'll get us a blanket."

Dean listened as Sam's feet thumped down the hallway to the living room. It was going to be a long night if the gurgling coming from his stomach was any indication. Dean flushed the toilet after rinsing his mouth and leaned back. He wrapped his arms around his stomach miserably.

"I got a blanket!" Sam announced in the doorway as he held up the tattered old blanket the boys usually used when they watched television on the couch.

"Great, Sammy. Thanks," Dean mumbled, closing his eyes as the pounding in his head worsened.

Sam knelt at his brother's side and placed a small, clammy palm to Dean's forehead. "Yup, you got a fever, Dean."

Dean brushed his little brother's hand away, but didn't have the heart to turn the four-year-old away when he curled up against his side.

"We can keep each other warm," Sam murmured sleepily.

Dean dozed off, but woke a short time later to vomit once again. He moaned miserably as his stomach cramped.

"It's okay, Dean," Sammy soothed quietly as his exhausted brother rested against the toilet seat. "It won't last too much longer and then you'll feel much better. I feel good now after I threw up that last time."

"Glad you feel better, Sam," Dean sighed without much enthusiasm. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt this sick in his entire life.

"I'll get you some ginger ale just like you did for me." Sam scrambled to his feet and wrapped the blanket as well as a four-year-old could around his brother's shoulders. "I'll be right back."

Dean yawned and sighed before he curled up in a ball on the floor under the blanket.

In the kitchen, Sam tugged open the refrigerator and hauled out the heavy two liter bottle of ginger ale. Setting it carefully on the floor, he grabbed a cup from the dish drainer and placed it next to the jug of ginger ale. Sam sat down on the floor with a grunt and managed to twist the cap off of the bottle. With concentration, he filled the cup nearly to the brim for his brother.

"There," he grinned as he screwed the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the refrigerator. Carefully, he picked up the cup and walked slowly to the bathroom. He entered the small room to find his big brother asleep in the floor. With a sigh, Sam placed the cup of ginger ale on the counter by the sink and curled up next to Dean where it didn't take him long to fall asleep.

Dean was the first one to wake up a few hours later when his stomach rebelled once again. Sam rubbed his back and talked him through the latest round of vomiting. When he was finished, Dean sagged weakly against his brother.

"Here, Dean," Sam offered. "Drink some ginger ale." The little boy retrieved the cup from the sink and held it out towards Dean.

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean only took the tiniest of sips. He was afraid it was going to come right back up. "Let's go to the couch and watch TV."

"Okay," the youngest Winchester beamed happily.

Dean had to lean on his younger brother to get to his feet, and the boys made their way slowly to the couch in the small living room. Dean took one more tiny sip of ginger ale and immediately curled up in one corner of the couch, shivering under the blanket Sam had brought with him while his little brother turned on the TV.

"Let's watch Voltron, Dean! I'm Keith! Do you wanna be Lance?"

"Okay, Sammy," Dean yawned miserably. His stomach felt sour and he knew he would be vomiting again shortly. "Can you get me the trashcan from the kitchen just in case I get sick?"

"Sure, Dean," Sam answered. He hurried into the kitchen, eager to be of help to his big brother.

Dean felt like crying in relief when Sam placed the plastic can next to the couch. He knew there was no way he would make it back to the bathroom in time.

Sam clambered back up onto the couch and curled up against his brother as Voltron started on the television. "From days of long ago…." Sammy parroted along with the narrator.

Any other day, Dean would have fussed at him for interrupting the show, but right now he felt too sick to do anything more than breathe. He took another sip of ginger ale, and that sent his stomach into painful spasms that ended in vomit.

Sam rubbed Dean's back and then hugged him once his brother fell back limply against the couch cushions. "I'm sorry I got you sick, Dean," Sam told the older boy tearfully. "I don't want you to be sick."

"It's all right, Sammy," Dean panted as he tried to reassure his brother. "You didn't mean to."

They watched the rest of Voltron and then Dean made his way shakily into the kitchen to fix his little brother some toast for breakfast. The smell of it set his stomach off once again and the thought of even attempting to drink ginger ale made him gag over the trash can.

Dean made himself as comfortable as he could on the couch while Sam ate and looked sleepily at his little brother. "If I fall asleep, don't answer the door, Sammy. Do you hear me?"

"I won't, Dean," the little boy answered solemnly. "I promise."

Dean must have dozed off. He woke to a clattering in the kitchen. "Sammy?" he called weakly. The room was spinning when he sat up, but he blinked a few times and the world righted itself once again.

"I'm hungry, Dean," the four-year-old informed him as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "You slept a long time."

Dean heaved a sigh and pushed to his feet. "I'm coming, Sammy. I'll warm up some soup." He took a step and then another before the world began to spin once again. He wavered on his feet.

"Dean?" Sammy asked, walking toward his brother in concern. "Are you okay?" Sammy watched in alarm as Dean slumped to the floor. "Dean!" the little boy screamed. He ran to his brother's side and dropped to his knees. He patted his brother's face with trembling hands; his heart pounded hard in his chest when his brother didn't stir. "Dean!" he cried out once again.

There was a rattling at the front door and Sam looked up in surprise. He shook his brother one more time before running to grab the baseball bat Dean kept in the corner in case someone tried to break in when their father wasn't home. It was heavy for him to swing, but he positioned himself in front of his big brother and adjusted his grip on the bat as the door swung open.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, but I would really, really love a hug from Jared Padalecki.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Chapter 3

"Daddy!" Sam squealed, dropping the bat and running forward toward the door as John Winchester stepped into the small, dingy apartment. "Dean's sick! He won't wake up!"

John's heart stuttered in his chest. One of his biggest fears was that something would happen to one or both of his boys while he was out hunting the monsters. He knelt beside his oldest boy on the worn carpet. "Dean, wake up, son," he called as he stroked Dean's smooth cheek. Dean was pale with dark circles under his eyes. John's heart thudded anxiously inside of his chest.

"Daaad," Dean slurred faintly without opening his eyes.

"Hey, kiddo," John soothed, "let's get you up. Are you feeling sick, son?"

"He's been throwing up, Daddy," Sam answered for his big brother. "He got sick from me. I throwed up first." The little boy's eyes brimmed with tears. "He throwed up a lot!"

"All right," John replied as he lifted his semi-conscious nine-year-old into his arms. "Get your shoes on, Sammy. We're taking Dean to the hospital."

Sam hurried to comply as John grabbed the blanket from the couch and wrapped it around Dean. "Hurry, Sam."

"I'm ready," the little boy answered, his eyes still shimmering with tears. His shoes were on his feet with the laces straggling like spaghetti noodles. "Is Dean gonna die, Daddy?" he asked as they stepped outside into the chill evening air and made their way to the car.

"No, tiger," John assured him. "Now get in the backseat and let me put Dean's head in your lap. You can keep an eye on him and tell me how he's doing." John forced a calmness into his voice that he didn't feel.

Sam scrambled into the Impala and carefully accepted his brother, situating Dean's head in his lap gently. "It's gonna be okay, Dean," he soothed as he stroked his brother's dirty blonde hair. "The doctor's gonna make you all better." A worried frown curved the little boy's lips downward. He should have taken better care of his sick brother.

John swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. His boys were so close it took his breath away at times. He ignored the speed limit all the way to the emergency room and sighed with relief once he parked and lifted a once again nearly conscious Dean into his arms. Sam was reluctant to give his brother up.

"Dad? Wha-hap'd?" Dean slurred.

"You've been sick and you passed out, kiddo," John explained as he walked across the parking lot with his son in his arms. "We're going to get you taken care of and you'll be feeling better shortly."

Sam scrambled to keep up with his father's long-legged stride and tangled his hand in the hem of Dean's shirt as he tried to give his big brother reassurance and comfort.

John entered the emergency room and zeroed in on the woman behind the front desk. "I need some help here!" he bellowed.

She took one look at the unconscious child in John's arms and surged to her feet. "I'll get someone with a gurney."

Sam kept his fingers twisted in Dean's shirt. "Daddy, can we go in the back with Dean?" he asked.

"The doctors will need to see to him, Sam. I'm not sure they will let us in the back until they have checked him over," John told his youngest son gently.

Sam sighed. "But what if Dean needs me? What if he wakes up and looks for me?"

"Then the doctors will come and get us as soon as they can," John told him. Relief flowed through the eldest Winchester when the double doors to the emergency room opened and a gurney was pushed through them.

The doctor was there questioning Dean's symptoms and then John found himself watching the doors as they closed behind the doctor and nurses caring for his oldest boy.

Sammy sniffled at his father's side. He was trying very hard not to cry, but he was worried about his big brother. He needed to be with Dean so he could take care of him.

John swung his youngest up into his arms and settled him on his hip. "The doctors know what to do for Dean, kiddo. He's going to be fine. He just needs some medicine."

Sam wiped at his eyes as he began to hiccup. "I-I- need to be with Dean," he managed.

"We'll see him soon," John soothed. "Let's go find somewhere to sit while we wait."

Sam found himself plopped into a chair at his father's side. He curled into a miserable ball and trained his eyes on the double doors where they had taken Dean.

John drank two cups up coffee while waiting for news on his eldest son. He paced the floor and then sank back into the uncomfortable chair beside Sam. The little boy still sniffled desolately although his eyes drifted closed every now and then. John pressed a hand to Sam's forehead. It was cool although Sam was still very pale from his bout with the stomach virus.

Leaning his head back against the wall, John blamed himself for what had happened to Dean. He knew he needed to find the thing that had killed Mary, but yet he felt he was letting their boys down at the same time. It was like he was being pulled in two different directions. His head pounded as the conflict raged within him. John closed his eyes, willing his headache away.

Sam's eyes attempted to close once again and he rubbed them sleepily. He had to stay awake in case Dean needed him. He glanced up at his father and noticed that John's eyes were closed. Sam knew he wasn't asleep yet; his breathing was too fast. He just needed to wait a little longer.

Sam was nearly asleep himself before John's breathing evened out. The little boy slipped quietly out of his chair and followed another family through the double doors where the doctor and nurses had taken his brother. He had to find Dean.

It was quite noisy now that he was in the heart of the emergency room. Doctors and nurses hurried past him never noticing the little boy tucked into the corner of the hallway. Sam moved quietly down the hall, his heart pounding frantically inside of his chest. There were a lot of people here. He didn't know where to look for Dean.

As he rounded a corner, two rows of curtained cubicles were laid out before him. Sam crept forward and peered hesitantly into the first cubicle. An old lady with blueish hair was being examined by a doctor. Sam wrinkled his nose and moved on before he was noticed. He made it to the fourth curtain before he found his brother.

Sam gasped and then clapped his hands over his mouth before either of the nurses working over his brother heard him. Dean looked so small in the hospital bed. There was a tube hooked in Dean's arm and a blanket tucked tightly around his body.

"I'll go get his family," one nurse announced as the other nodded.

Sam ducked away as the women exited the cubicle. Then he scurried inside and stood next to his brother's bed. "Dean?" he whispered loudly.

There was no response. His older brother kept his eyes closed and breathed deeply.

Sam frowned. "Dean?" he called again, a little louder this time.

"S'mmy," Dean muttered, his eyes still closed.

A grin curved the younger brother's face and with some difficulty he scaled the railing on the side of the bed and curled up next to his big brother, careful not to dislodge the wires and tubes. "I'll take care of you now, Dean," he assured his brother. He rubbed Dean's forehead carefully. "I'm right here."

Sam snuggled into his brother's side and rested his head against Dean's shoulder. Being this close, he would certainly know if his brother woke up and needed anything.

"Sam!" John's voice rang out down the hallway.

The youngest Winchester winced and tangled his fingers in his big brother's sheet.

John yanked the curtain back that surrounded Dean's bed and heaved a sigh of relief when he spotted his youngest. "Sam," he breathed out, "don't you ever sneak away from me again."

"But I had to find Dean," Sam argued quietly. Dean would have been upset to wake up without knowing where Sam was.

John shook his head and reached for his youngest.

Sam wrapped himself around his big brother, forcing John to let go for fear of dislodging any of the tubes and wires from Dean's body.

"Sam," John began with a heavy sigh, "Dean is going to be fine. He threw up too many of the good things his body needs and that's why he passed out. The doctors are giving him the fluids he needs to feel better."

Sam rested his head back against Dean's shoulder. "But Daddy, Dean would be scared. I don't think he'll 'member that you're home. He'll think something bad happened to me if he doesn't see me when he wakes up."

John sighed once again, knowing his youngest spoke the truth. Dean would wake up in a panicked state if he didn't know the whereabouts of his little brother.

"S'mmy?" Dean slurred quietly as he turned his head in Sam's direction.

"I'm right here, Dean," Sam murmured quietly, using one of his small, pudgy hands to stroke his big brother's cheek. "Daddy's here, too. The doctors are gonna make you feel better."

Dean's eyes fluttered open and then closed again from the harshness of the emergency room's bright lights. "What happ'd?" he managed to get out around a tongue as dry as cotton.

The nurse handed John a cup of ice chips and he stepped closer to his son's bed. "You've had a stomach virus, Dean, and got dehydrated."

"S'rry," Dean choked out. "S'rry, Dad."

"You couldn't help it, kiddo," John soothed. "The doctors have given you something for nausea and some fluids to replace what you've lost."

Dean blinked blearily up at his dad while drawing Sam closer to him. "You 'kay, S'mmy?" he asked tiredly, his first concern always his little brother.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm okay," the youngest Winchester answered as he gently placed an arm around his brother and gave him a gentle hug.

John bit back a smile at the gesture from the youngest brother to the oldest. "You can have a few ice chips and we'll see how you do," he told Dean.

Dean accepted the few small pieces of ice gratefully. They soothed the dry, burning feeling in his throat. His stomach was empty, but he didn't feel hungry at all. A trembling, weak feeling had taken over his body.

"Just rest, Dean," John told him. "I'm sorry I wasn't home when you and Sam needed me." Guilt leaked through into the words even as John told himself he was doing the best he could.

Dean attempted to put his father's mind at ease. "It's 'kay, Dad." His voice even sounded a bit stronger this time. "You didn't know we were gonna get sick."

John rested a hand on Dean's forehead and felt love for his boys surge through him. "You're going to be okay, kiddo. You and Sammy just get some rest. I'll be right here."

"'Kay, Dad," Dean answered, sighing as Sam curled up tighter against his side. Both boys were soon deeply asleep.

"You don't deserve them, Winchester," John mumbled under his breath. "I'm sorry, Mary," he continued. "I'll try to do better." A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he slumped in a chair at Dean's bedside. He knew it would never be easy to be both a hunter and a father, but he had to try – for the sake of his boys and for Mary.

The End


End file.
